Playing with Taboo
by PureWaterLily
Summary: The complexities of falling in love your own brother. AU.


**A/N**: Written back in winter of 2014. I forgot to post it. Oops.

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Growing up, Sasuke always thought he'd be picking up some high school sweetheart in a Lincoln. He thought they'd be cranking the radio to Nirvana as they drove down the Hudson. He thought he'd be against the skyline, tasting cherry chapstick, and feeling the curve of her lower back as he runs his hand down to her jean pockets. He thought, rather naively, that his love life would be a cross between Shakespeare and a skin-mag, and that the biggest obstacle would be outdoing Itachi and his smoking hot college girlfriend.

And for the most part, teenage life met those expectations. It's what happens after that Sasuke neglected to think about.

February, 2014.

Sasuke leaves the frozen streets of Manhattan. The restaurant is small, a dim atmosphere of low chatter and cilantro. He doesn't need to wait, because there is someone already waiting for him.

Itachi lowers the teacup, in favor of a smile that goes straight to the eyes.

"Sasuke."

Sasuke says nothing, though when he pulls the chair out, his heart is inevitably beating faster. The sound of his brother's voice sends him a shot of anxiety, flusters him in a way that interviews cannot, speeches cannot, women cannot. All his focus is on the way Itachi's lips form one word after another, even if the sound blends in with the silverware, the murmurs, the footsteps.

He is Sasuke, though, and he does not need to distinguish sounds or shapes when he says, "Water," then lifts a hand to decline any further requests. The waiter leaves, giving Sasuke the privacy he wants.

Itachi hasn't changed. Sasuke recalls the black button down from New Years. And like during New Years, the first two buttons are never fastened, revealing just enough of his brother's clavicle. Hung around his neck is a necklace that leads the eye dangerously close to an erogenous zone. Once Sasuke's eye lands there, the intersection of skin and fabric with silver, he cannot break his gaze. He feels sensations he shouldn't, thinks thoughts he shouldn't, so he avoids that direction at all costs.

There are safer things to look at. The table. The chair. Sasuke notices there hangs a jacket that is different from last time, patted of snow. He realizes it's the blazer he gave Itachi a month ago, and a fluttering warmth runs from his stomach.

It's an unwanted warmth.

Ice clinks. He reaches for the glass as soon as the waiter sets it down, never mind that his ears are still red from the outside, his lips blue. The first sip down, and he is already fighting a war against the shivers.

His actions do not escape Itachi's notice. It never does. Itachi pretends to be oblivious, instead glancing towards the teapot.

"You know, I've never tried the tea here before, but the blend is pretty interesting." It's warm. "Want to try some and tell me what you think?"

Ages ago, when Sasuke was naïve enough to believe no one caught his blunders, he would have jumped at the offer. Now, he would grit his teeth through the Antarctic before admitting he did something unintentional.

"No." Sasuke knows his voice is too direct. But it's the voice his brother is used to, and changing it now would raise questions. Changing it now would ruin _routine_. Itachi smirks.

"You sure?"

"I'm _fine_."

"I'll drop a call in three days," Itachi says with a shrug. "I'm sure there will be a congested voice still insistent on finesse."

Sasuke comes prepared with ammunition. "You know, Itachi, you shouldn't apply your sensitivity to the general population. Some of us happen to handle the cold just fine."

"Are those goosebumps?" Itachi observes.

"Are those eye bags?" Sasuke counters.

"I would not know. I don't check the mirror every five minutes to gel my hair."

"No, that would be the man-whore in your HR."

"I forget. Is he the one that stole your firm's top employee?"

"Hello! Are you ready-" The waiter stumbles back. He glances between them. "I'll come back lat-"

Sasuke unscrews his jaw. "No. We're ready to order."

Itachi makes no objection.

The waiter is careful, but relaxes and clicks his pen. "Okay, what will you have, sir?"

Sasuke does not spare more than a second on the menu. "I'll take the scottadito."

"And you, sir?"

"The ceviche, asparagus linguine, and..." Itachi glances in Sasuke's direction, before folding the menu. "An Italian Wedding, please. My brother is in dire need of one."

Sasuke shoots Itachi a dirty look, though when the bowl arrives, he no longer resists Itachi's offer. The soup is warm, and the taste is surprisingly flavorful, with a tint of sour that reminds him just how hungry he has been all day. Slowly, his act loosens.

Before he knows it, he is biting into a roll, reverted back to the role of the younger brother.

To anyone who knows Sasuke, the sight is strange. No one would guess that Sasuke would be as mindless as to let his knife click against the plate, that he'd ever point with his fork, that he'd rant. "... took on the deal. He knows jackshit Cantonese. He doesn't even know Cantonese is a language. And he plans to _represent_ on the Hong Kong board?"

The Sasuke everyone knows only give orders. Discuss strategics. Growl _shut up_ if the speaker is Naruto. The Sasuke everyone knows is private, mature, and composed. The Sasuke everyone knows would not be caught dead complaining about things like, "Instead of seeing my report, I catch him having sex in the fifth floor bathroom. With the new _intern._"

But Itachi is not everyone. Itachi slices his fish with every graceful pull. Though he looks to be more attentive of the food than his brother, his gaze flickers up from time to time, a smile that widens in sync with the conversation. "Let the intern do it."

"What?"

"Redistribute the work. Instead of making her do coffee runs, make her write the reports instead."

"You expect an ill-experienced undergraduate to do advanced modeling analysis."

Itachi gives a playful look. "No, I expect her to freak out."

It takes Sasuke a moment to understand where Itachi is going, but when he does, he feels pathetically inadequate. "And get help."

"From?"

Sasuke mumbles. "You can't expect that to work."

"It is human psychology to do anything to impress mates. Use it to your advantage."

Even though there is nothing wrong in what Itachi says, Sasuke feels an inexplicable burn across his cheeks. He attributes it to the food and reaches for the water again.

Only, the water cannot distract him this time. His eyes are already captivated by the glow of the sconce against his brother's face. How tresses of hair slide down one by one with the fall of gravity, as Itachi leans in for a blow against his tea. The way his eyelashes lower with his gaze, softening his features to femininity. How like an optical illusion, he flickers between male and female, though no one will be mistaken when the humor falls from his lips and his eyes narrow, so direct and authoritative that anyone would trip to follow than face him.

The thought makes Sasuke twist in an inappropriate way, so he downs more ice.

"I could do that and be a manipulative bastard like you. But I think I'll stick to firing them."

Itachi chuckles. Sasuke is hopeless, furiously sawing the meat off a bone. He knows he cannot look up, so he works his knife harder. But in one moment of curiosity, one second of weakness, he glances up.

His chest constricts.

Itachi is smiling. A smile not seen in the curve of his lips but the eyes, the amount of tenderness in them breathtakingly beautiful.

And suddenly, everything is an obstacle. The table is in the way. The people are in the way. The plates can fall, the silverware fly, everything topple, but any gap between them is gone. If Itachi can look at him like that, then why can't he also run fingers through Sasuke's hair, press their foreheads together.

Sasuke seals his lips tightly. He does not taste his meal anymore. He tastes something soft. Slow. Gentle. Firm. A taste that would not be lipstick or gum or tobacco, but as natural as honey and as warm as bourbon. He tastes something that makes him want to open his mouth and press forward. He tastes everything he has ever wanted and nothing he can ever have.

Sasuke sets down the empty glass and pardons himself for the restroom.

He walks, numb to the background chatter and footsteps, the pour of a glass, the cold breeze from an opening door.

In the restroom, the faucet is turned on full blast. He splashes his face. Water stings his eyes.

When he looks up, his reflection scowls back. Red line the bottom of his eyelids. Strands of hair cling to his skin, dripping water down to the collar of his shirt. He looks more than inadequate. He looks uncontrolled. He looks _pathetic_.

As he hunches over, his hands veined against the ceramic sink, the shame penetrates him deep.

Even deeper is fear. Fear that someone can hear into his thoughts. Fear that these sensations will not go away, because it has been a long time since college, and obsessions are never that persistent.

There was a time Sasuke did not have this problem. Ages ago, Itachi was just the annoying parent who scolded him over stupid skateboard stunts. Itachi was the hogger of the television remote, who would innocently knock over the rabbit ears during Sasuke's turn to watch. Itachi was the bane of his existence, the hand-me-down clothes and second rate parental attention, the humiliation every time Sasuke brought friends over.

Back then, Itachi was just the brother.

But maybe because they were brothers, Itachi was also the most intimate person in his life. They fought over the same food, the same couch, the same bathroom. Sasuke could recognize the softener on Itachi's clothes, the smell from his pillow, the way Itachi lied in bed and shielded his eyes from the morning light.

And maybe because they were brothers, Itachi was the most trusted person in his life. The person who guided him through the rough patches in adolescent life, who secretly drove him places when their parents would not, who rushed him to the hospital and stayed by his side the week of his skateboard injury. Only Itachi had seen both Sasuke's good and bad to not judge him, stayed with him through the night he contemplated suicide.

And maybe because they were brothers, Sasuke missed Itachi the most when he left for college. He could get over the homesickness within the first week, find his mother's calls bothersome after the first month, but spend a whole day abusing his dorm floors with a Swiffer mop should he learn Itachi was visiting. And every visit was always too short.

Sasuke was well aware that as he grew up, he became more stupid when it came to his brother, obsessive and even awkward. But the nail on the coffin was Naruto Uzumaki, the guy who had decided that the best revenge was a smack on his lips.

Before Sasuke knew it, the next millennium had already arrived, an era where homosexuality had become acceptable, a topic spreading from campus to campus amongst the youth, with his best friend as the living definition.

The next millennium had arrived, his old conceptions of romance and marriage as outdated as that Lincoln. It did not matter what fraternity Sasuke joined, how many girlfriends he had. It did not matter if he spurned liberal politics or expressed disgust of sodomy. The idea still infected his brain like a tumor, and alongside the idea was always a picture of his brother right beside it.

The next millennium had arrived. Childhood had concluded, as had teenage life. College was over, and soon his early adulthood. Sasuke had arrived at the age when people began exchanging their old families for a new one. A mother for a daughter. A father for a son. A brother for a bride.

Sasuke pressed his back against the bathroom wall.

What if he did not want a new family. What if he was perfectly content with his old one, that all-too-familiar presence by his side every day. What if he just wanted to continue sharing a life together, the stupid text messages in the mornings and the microwaved dinner at nights.

What if all he wants is to grow old alongside his brother.

The next millennium had arrived, but it had not arrived fast enough.

Steadying his feet, Sasuke made his way back to their table. The dinner had already lasted longer than was appropriate, and it would be too rude, even for him, to keep Itachi away from his wife and children any longer.


End file.
